


like a movie loves a screen

by metonymy



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Romantic Comedy, Trope Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:32:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonymy/pseuds/metonymy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's a career-focused workaholic who's no fun at all. When he and Ariadne meet cute, will his heart melt or will a third act misunderstanding get in the way of their happily ever after? Romcom AU; soundtrack of female-voiced indie pop not included. Written for Inception Reverse Bang 2013.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a movie loves a screen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ness (nessismore)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessismore/gifts).



**the meet cute**

Arthur is late.

Arthur is _never_ late. He hasn't been late since eighth grade gym class. He makes it a point to allow ample time to get somewhere, to know the average transit and traffic delays, and to use shortcuts and bribery if necessary. 

But today of all days he is late, and it is starting to drizzle, and the building had a mysterious failure of the hot water heater so he had to take a cold shower this morning, and there was no time for breakfast, and as he finally - finally! - leaves a cafe with his cup of much-needed coffee he is tripped by a cat running down the street and falls.

Spectacularly.

Everything in his satchel flies out in an arc over the damp street, capped by his coffee spilling theatrically in a stunning display of fluid physics and onto the pavement.

"Are you okay?" says a female voice.

Arthur picks himself up and ascertains that nothing is injured other than his dignity and his sense of pride - and, he realizes belatedly, one knee of his trousers, _dammit_ \- and looks up at the questioner.

He feels like he's falling all over again.

"Hi?" asks the girl, her face now creasing into worry. She was picking up some of his things, but her hands still. Possibly because he's staring at her.

Because she's gorgeous. Wavy hair and an oval face and warm brown eyes and a slightly concerned expression and a mouth he has the strangest desire to kiss.

"Hello. I mean, yes," he says, trying to remember how to speak English along with how things work like standing up and keeping his mouth shut. She smiles and he feels dizzy all over again.

"Okay, cool," she says, gathering up two of the moleskines and a sheaf of paper and handing them back to him. Arthur stuffs everything he can back in the bag, knowing it's damp, knowing he's even later than before, knowing he's made a fool out of himself in front of an absolutely breathtaking woman.

Girl. God, she can't be out of college yet, can she? She's wearing skinny trousers and a little red jacket and she could be anywhere from fifteen to thirty, it's impossible to tell.

"You sure you're okay?" she asks. "It didn't look like you hit your head, but..."

"No, I'm fine," he says hurriedly, gathering the last few things. He manages a self-deprecating smile. "I just really needed that coffee." 

"Here, take mine," she says, offering the paper cup. "It's just black, if that's okay."

"I couldn't, really," he says, but she pushes it into his hand.

"Go ahead. You need it more than I do." She stands and brushes off her knees, then heads back into the coffee shop with one last smile over her shoulder.

It isn't till the door closes behind her that Arthur manages to turn away and start running back down the street.

The cup sits on his desk for the rest of the day. Eames looks at it with curiosity, but there's no telltale lipstick mark to clue him in. The girl wasn't wearing any, after all. She probably didn't even get to take her first sip before she gave him the cup.

Arthur isn't normally like this. Sentimental. But he hopes he'll see her again.

He goes by the coffee shop every day for a week.

He doesn't see her. 

Arthur isn't that kind of guy. But he's secretly a little disappointed.

**the hardcore career man whose heart melts**

Soon enough he has another day where everything seems to be against him. Too soon, really; it feels rather unfair. The weather forecast proved to be a bald-faced lie, a storm blowing in and settling over the city with buckets of rain pouring down. That's what he gets for staying late at the office again instead of going home at a normal time.

And of course Arthur's umbrella blows inside out. Of course it does. He stuffs the whole damn thing in a trash can and only realizes halfway down the block that he's waded into a gigantic puddle.

He curses, softly but viciously, under his breath.

And then there's a poke at his back and he nearly falls over.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't see - oh!"

Under a bright red umbrella is the girl again, this time wearing an oversized trenchcoat and a pair of green and white polka-dotted galoshes on her feet. She looks momentarily embarrassed, then grins.

"You," he says, somewhat dumbfounded.

"You again," she replies, eyes dancing. "You have really terrible luck, don't you?"

Arthur groans. "Not normally. Only when you're around."

"So you think I'm what, a bad luck charm?" The girl raises her umbrella and steps closer so it can shield him from the rain. And now she's right up inside his bubble of personal space.

Somehow Arthur doesn't mind, though.

"An avatar of chaos," he suggests. She rolls her eyes.

"If you say so. Where are you headed? I can walk you there so you don't get… well, any wetter."

Maybe she's not a chaos avatar. Maybe she's his guardian angel.

"Well?" 

Arthur nods, feeling a smile start on his face. "You'd better let me hold the umbrella, though," he says, reaching over to take it. "So you don't bump my head."

When his fingers brush against his, it's like… not a spark, but a slow flood of warmth, like holding a cup of tea and feeling it spread through his hand. 

"I suppose that makes sense," she says, letting him take the umbrella and walking next to him, arm brushing against his. Her rain boots make an ungodly splash and a sort of sticky noise as she walks. It's hideous. He doesn't care at all.

"So what are you doing in this neighborhood?" she asks, glancing up at him. There are raindrops caught in her hair, sparkling in the streetlights.

When did Arthur turn into such a goddamned sap?

"I work over here," he says, naming the firm and the vague but impressive consulting work he does. She doesn't seem impressed, though. "What about you?"

"Just doing a little research. I'm an architect," she explains, and he can't help being impressed. So she's not a child, then. She explains the project she's working on, how it's a few blocks from his office, and part of him gets a little excited about that. She'll be nearby. He might see her again. But then they get to the subway entrance and he stops, shoes squishing a little in another puddle. 

"This is my line," he says. 

"Then I guess this is goodbye," she says, smiling and taking her umbrella back. A drop of water hits the top of his head and he ducks into the entrance of the subway stop. 

"I never got your name," he calls after her as she splashes away.

"Ariadne!" she shouts, turning and walking backwards and waving.

"Arthur," he responds, voice feeling too loud in his throat. 

"I'll see you around, Arthur," she says, before finally turning around and ducking around the corner. 

Arthur's cold and wet but he can't help smiling to himself as he heads down to the train.

**it's not creepy if it's a movie**

What he really doesn't expect, after all that, is to see Ariadne in his office lobby two days later, looking up at Eames and chatting animatedly with him. 

"Arthur, you old sod!" his coworker exclaims as Arthur walks in. "You didn't tell me you had such a charming friend."

"That's because he didn't know I'd be coming by his office," Ariadne says, standing up from her chair and smiling at Arthur. His stomach makes a curious flip-flop. "Hi."

"Hi," Arthur says, starting to smile. Eames looks between the two of them, makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh, and heads back into the office. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was in the neighborhood, and I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch." Ariadne pulls a face. "Of course, now I realize it was probably weird to show up at your office, but I didn't have your number or anything, and looking that up would've made me seem… wait, is that more or less odd?" 

"Neither, really," he says. Somehow Arthur wants to laugh. "You mentioned lunch?"

"Yeah. You eat?" She blushes. "I mean, would you like to go get something to eat?"

"Absolutely." And Arthur realizes he means it. He wants to spend more time with her. "I was just going to grab a sandwich, but…"

"No, that's perfect," she says, and they start to walk toward the elevator. "I mean, I'll eat anything, so if you know a good place that's fine."

"It's not that good. It's close and it's fast and it's clean enough that it won't give me food poisoning, and then I have time to use the rest of my lunch break for errands." Arthur looks up at the ticking numbers, aware that he sounds like an insufferable bore.

"Well, that works too." Ariadne is quiet as they step into the elevator, and the silence stretches out.

"Or we could do something else. Uh. Do you like sushi?" he asks, scrambling for something that sounds better.

"What if we take the sandwiches and go to the park?" Ariadne glances up at him with a smile. "If it's fast that gives us plenty of time. And then we can talk without feeling like we're in a fishbowl and taunt the squirrels."

"What, not feed them?" Arthur starts to smile back at her. It actually sounds pretty nice. 

"God, no, they're greedy little bastards. Almost as bad as pigeons."

Arthur finds himself laughing. And it's not the first time he laughs that afternoon. Ariadne is funny, and he forgets entirely about whatever they might be eating as they stroll through the park. he even makes her laugh a couple of times. That might be the best part of the day.

And this time, he gives her his number.

**everybody knows what happens on the third date**

He's not sure if this counts as date number two or three. Maybe lunch was date number one. But they didn't kiss, they just exchanged numbers. And she paid for her own food. 

But the place she picks for this date is a French restaurant - she still loves the food after studying there, she explains - and the lights are dim, and when she picks him up she's wearing a suit and lipstick and Arthur can already feel himself staring. She's taller in the heels she has on. The rather incredible peep-toe heels. 

This must be date number three. 

Is his mouth hanging open? He checks. No. Okay. Good.

"Hi," she says finally, smiling slow. "You look great."

Arthur thanks whatever impulse made him wear the navy blue suit and gives her what he hopes is a charming smile. "Thanks. You look amazing."

She grins and takes his arm and they head off, the staccato sound of her heels on the pavement only heightening his excitement. 

Dinner is delicious, and they're saved from a throwdown over their French skills by the slightly overeager waiter, and Arthur finds himself telling Ariadne his whole life story without too much provocation. She doesn't react with pity, just compassion. It seems they've both been lonely souls, though Ariadne seized it as an opportunity to explore while Arthur simply withdrew inward. But something about her makes him want to emerge from behind those walls. 

He feels a little shy as he invites her up; Arthur doesn't bring people home often. And he's aware that some people read the sparseness of his apartment as coldness, rather than a lack of any good ideas for things to bring home. But Ariadne is examining his bookshelves when he comes back with their drinks, and she sets her glass down after just one sip to reach for his tie.

"When were you going to tell me you read poetry?" she asks, voice warm.

"It didn't come up," he says, bemused but not entirely uninterested in where this seems to be going. 

"I didn't think you were that kind of guy."

"I've got layers," he says, and Ariadne laughs.

"Too many layers." She pushes his suit jacket off his shoulders and bites her lip, grinning up at him. "That was cheesy as hell, sorry."

Arthur laughs, suddenly feeling less nervous, and slides his hands inside her opened jacket and over her waist. "I don't mind." He bends to kiss her, curving around her as she pushes him blindly to the couch, and she lands in his lap as they fall onto the cushions with matching groans. 

"This is good?" she asks, rolling her hips a little. 

He groans, hands sliding from her waist to her hips and back up, pulling her jacket off.

"I'll take that as a yes." Ariadne bends to kiss him again and he seizes the chance to do something with his mouth other than fail to speak, kissing her hungrily. She's taking advantage of her angle to direct things, bracing herself with hands firm on his shoulders, mouth hot and tongue stroking his, hips moving just enough to drive him crazy. They make out for a while, and it's great, it's wonderful, it's all too easy to just keep kissing her and kissing her as she tugs open his tie and he slides his hands up to cup her breasts. By the time she finally pulls away, really pulls back for more than a quick breath, his shirt's halfway open and her bra is caught up inside her top where he's already undone the clasp. 

"Maybe we should move?" she asks, and he laughs and kisses her again. 

His bedroom is much like the rest of the apartment, spare and simple, but the bed is wide and inviting before them. As she walks in past him, Ariadne discards her top and bra and starts working on the buttons of her trousers with fierce concentration. "Let me," he offers, but it's an excuse to put his hands on her again and slide them down to her hips. He's never seen anything more beautiful than her gentle curves and scowl of determination. Ariadne ignores him till she gets the buttons open, and then she starts again on his shirt till it's gaping wide.

"Sorry," she says with a grin. "I'm kind of impatient."

Arthur can't hide his delight, feeling unreasonably giddy as they strip each other down, her lacy underwear landing on top of his boxers, and when she pushes him onto the bed he can't help letting it bubble out as a laugh. The millisecond he spends worrying about whether that seems foolish ends when Ariadne chuckles as she bends down to kiss him. He can feel her laughter in his lips, in his fingertips spread over her ribs. He can feel the shift in her weight as she reaches for the condom, then moves off him to put it on. 

And he feels it all the way to his toes when she slides onto him, sighing a little with satisfaction. She's gorgeous above him as she starts to move, and he starts to tell her so but stutters when his hips rise up to meet hers. This time when she laughs it's breathy, like this is starting to get to her too. Which is oddly reassuring. They find a rhythm eventually, slower and almost languid, but that's perfect. It lets him concentrate on every sensation, on the sight of her above him and the way her hair falls and twists with every motion like a living thing, on her soft cries and gentle moans, on the pressure of her hands against his chest and her cunt around his cock. She gets louder as he gets faster, as he slips a hand between them and starts rubbing her clit, and the way she tightens around him and cries his name builds his own desire higher and higher, till she's coming around him and arching over him and he feels like he's falling and flying and floating for a moment, and Ariadne is too long a name to moan but he tries. Her pleased and sated expression tells him he got close enough. He definitely gets her name right when he's murmuring it into her hair as they fall asleep.

The next morning he wakes up as the light hits his bedroom. Ariadne's arm is over his stomach and that alone feels nearly miraculous. But her face is mashed into the pillow and she'd told him she wasn't much of a morning person. So he carefully moves her arm and pulls on a pair of boxers and slips out of the room, trying not to smile too hard. It's the morning after and she's still here.

Arthur turns on the radio as he putters around the kitchen, getting the coffee started. Eggs? Cereal? Pancakes seem too complicated. Would there be time for him to go get bagels before she wakes up?

A song starts that he loves and he hums along softly, not wanting to wake her up as he moves around. Mugs, spoons, getting out the milk in case she wants any, gradually moving to the beat. And maybe it's the post-coital glow or maybe it's just having her around that puts him in such a good mood, but he finds himself dancing, head and shoulders and hips and feet moving to the song, mouthing along to the words.

It isn't until he tries a twirl that he sees Ariadne leaning against the doorjamb, clad in what looks like his undershirt from yesterday. 

"Shit."

She smiles, shaking her head. "No, don't stop."

Arthur's pretty sure the tips of his ears are bright red by now. "Do you want some coffee?"

Ariadne saunters over and puts her hands on his shoulders, pulling him close and swaying to the beat. "I was hoping you'd ask me to join you." He's slow and tentative, and she's not actually a very good dancer, and the coffee gets a little overbrewed, but they get the hang of it eventually and he can't seem to stop smiling.

**montage**

It occurs to Arthur soon thereafter that they must be in a relationship. The whole thing feels far more comfortable than his previous tries. Maybe that's why he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ariadne doesn't seem to mind that he's committed to his career or enjoys his solitude and silence and routine; she's passionate about her own work, and she's lived alone long enough that she doesn't mind spending time by herself. But she is also flexible and creative and funny, and her perspective on the world is refreshing. 

She thinks a great date is going to the library book sale and racing each other to find the trashiest fantasy novel or most out-of-date history book. She thinks ordering takeout and eating it off his coffee table is a perfectly good alternative to getting dressed up and going out. She looks really good in his tee shirts and she likes the way he looks with his hair undone and falling all over the place. 

She asks how his day was and really listens. She doesn't pry but she doesn't take his bullshit either. She tells him when he's shutting her out and how unhappy that makes her. 

She fits perfectly against him when they're watching a movie or taking a walk or falling asleep.

One day they're out for a walk and she gives him an impromptu architecture tour of the neighborhoods they walk through, explaining the history and the names and the purpose of the buildings, the way the city has changed and struggled and burned and blossomed into what it is today. How it's all still changing, how nothing's ever permanent, how the rivers themselves have moved and what's taken their place.

"You really love what you do," he says. Ariadne looks up at him.

"What would you do, if you could do what you loved?"

"I don't know," he says, staring straight ahead as they walk for a few paces. "Travel, I guess."

"So why not do that now?" she asks. 

"Work's so busy I've never found the time," he says flatly, shrugging. 

"So… make time. Find a new job. One with travel." Ariadne lets go of his hand to step in front of him, walking backwards again. "You're a consultant. Your firm has international clients, right? Can you work with them? Or start your own business, do it wherever."

Arthur is quiet as they walk, and Ariadne squeezes his hand. "Sorry, I just --"

"No, you're right," he says. "I mean, I could, I guess. I just never thought about it." Never thought about leaving this city and abandoning his routines and his rules for something spontaneous. Something unpredictable. Like Ariadne.

He lets go of her hand to put his arm around her and kiss the top of her head. "But maybe I will. Go to Paris. See all the sights." Ariadne turns her face up to his with a smile. 

"We could put a lock on the Pont des Arts. That's what lovers do, they put a lock on the bridge with their initials and throw the key in the water."

If it weren't so great, Arthur would be scared.

**third act misunderstanding**

Actually, that's not true. He is scared. He's scared like hell of what might happen. Because Arthur has never done this before. Not like this. Not when it feels like something real. Something true.

Something that could last.

Something that could so easily go completely wrong.

One night he's lost in his own thoughts as she makes dinner, and it takes him a while to catch on when she's saying his name.

"Have you been listening to a word I've said?" she asks, and there's a little tightness around her eyes when he looks at her.

"Sorry. I was just… thinking. About work, like you said." 

Ariadne nods, her expression smoothing out. "Are you actually going to try this? Figure out some way to get out of that office of yours?"

Arthur takes a sip of his water, then nods. "I think so, yeah. I think… I want more. So. Why not?" Her smile in return isn't as big as he'd like, but it's genuine. "Sorry. Anyway. What were you saying?"

"Oh, nothing important. I just have a big project so I'm going to be putting in a lot of extra hours for a while."

That turns out to be putting it lightly. They start to see each other once a week, maybe twice, and while Arthur's making inquiries at work and having meetings and writing up defenses to argue for what's essentially a promotion, Ariadne is at the office every night for hours and texts him at odd times and sends him pictures of her fourth pot of coffee for the day. If Arthur weren't a workaholic himself, he would be telling her to find a new job. As it is, though, they make it to their one date a week and she can barely make it through dinner without yawning.

Maybe she's just realized how boring he really is, Arthur thinks. 

Maybe she's decided it's not worth it anymore.

But he forgets that niggling fear when he gets the decision from his boss's boss's boss, and he goes straight to Ariadne's place, alight with excitement.

She's still in her work clothes even though it's late, and that should have been his first clue. The dark circles under her eyes should have been the second. But he barrels on in anyway.

"I'm doing it. I'm going, Ariadne, I'm going to Paris." 

"That's great, Arthur," she says, and he gets a good look at her and can feel himself deflating. "Really. How long are you going to be gone?"

"I'm not sure," he says, shrugging. "A few weeks, I think. It depends on how long the job takes, it could be longer."

"Okay," she says, hiding a yawn behind her hand. Ariadne smiles, but it's missing all her usual sparkle and warmth. "That's really fantastic. I'm proud of you."

Arthur decides not to push her on her lack of enthusiasm and nods, fidgeting. "I'm leaving in a week."

"Oh." 

"I was thinking - if I keep doing this, I might have to sublet my apartment, and I was thinking maybe I could bring some things here?" For safekeeping, obviously, since he hopes he'll be coming back to see her soon.

But Ariadne frowns. "You're leaving the continent and you think now is the time to talk about moving in together?"

Arthur finds his hands going up, shaking his head. "What? No, I didn't - I just meant to keep them safe while I'm gone. That's all."

Ariadne sits down on her couch, expression still stormy. "I mean, this is great for you, I just… when are we ever going to see each other again? If we're not even in the same city? Why leave it with me?"

"I thought you'd be happy," he says, and there's a thread of hurt in his voice that sounds like weakness, and now she looks pissed.

"I am. I'm ecstatic. This is what you wanted. To leave."

"I'm not the one who's been so busy she can't see her boyfriend more than once a week."

"It's not always like this, Arthur, you know that. And when I finish this project, where are you going to be? Paris? Mombasa? Tokyo?" And Arthur can see what she's thinking, can tell exactly where this conversation is going to go, and he's suddenly sick with it. He thought things were going to be different this time. 

"I'll let you know when I get there," he says, heading for the door. 

"Arthur - Arthur, don't - Arthur, please," Ariadne says from behind him. Her voice sounds small and sad but he's too mad to stop and listen to her half-hearted apologies and equivocations and he just goes.

It's the worst night of his life.

**happily ever after**

He should be happy, he thinks absently, as he gets ready to leave. As he packs his clothes and makes his arrangements and stops his mail and cleans out his fridge. This is what he wanted. A change. Something exciting.

But he still hasn't spoken to Ariadne. She called and texted but he deleted every message unopened. There's a part of him that's still cold and mad and hurt and more than a little ashamed. 

Eames has noticed, and when Arthur forwards him his flight details for reference he saunters over to Arthur's desk.

"What, no sendoff from the lovely Ariadne?"

"No." It's curt, but Arthur has absolutely no desire to discuss this with Eames, of all people.

"Bit of advice, Arthur: don't throw it all away on some silly tiff. She's the best thing that's ever happened to you."

"Shut up, Eames."

His coworker shrugs and saunters away, and Arthur returns to work.

But it gets harder and harder to shove down those feelings of guilt and shame and missing her, so he finally texts Ariadne with his flight number. Just so she knows. Just so she won't do anything foolish like show up at his apartment when he's across the ocean.

Arthur takes a car service to the airport, and there's a little part of him that's disappointed that she didn't show up to say goodbye, to kiss him farewell as he heads to security. Silly of him, really. He fucked it up and he shouldn't have expected anything different. 

Getting into Paris isn't that complicated, and he finds his hotel without trouble, but the bed seems awfully wide and empty. But that's just his imagination. 

After he makes contact the next day with the Paris office of his firm, he has the rest of the day to himself, and Arthur decides to go for a walk. Nowhere in particular. Just seeing what this beautiful city has to offer him. Besides tiny perfect cups of coffee. 

It's purely by chance that he winds up on the bridge. Or at least he's pretty sure it is. The iron railings covered in padlocks of all shapes and sizes and colors trigger a memory, though, and he steps close to the edge to examine them. There must be hundreds of locks here. A little bit further down he can see a couple laughing as they fasten theirs onto the rail. 

"Arthur?"

He nearly bangs his head on the railing trying to straighten up. There could be another Arthur on this bridge, but… he knows that voice. 

"Ariadne?"

She's hurrying down the bridge, dodging couples and families, and he's rushing towards her and finally she's back in his arms and he realizes he's spinning her around, holding her tightly and laughing out her name.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, astonished that she's really here. Maybe this is all a dream, a crazy dream brought on by missing her too much.

"Put me down, you brute," she says with a grin, which proves it's real, and he does. "The project finished up a few days ago. I wanted to see you but you were so busy, and when you sent me that text about your flight… it just seemed like the thing to do."

"Flying to Paris spontaneously seemed like the thing to do." He's a little disbelieving, even as his hand combs her hair back from her lovely face.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Ariadne says, growing serious. "I reacted really badly, and I'm sorry. I love you. And I think it's wonderful that you're doing this, and we'll just figure out how to skype and take vacations at the same time and make it work somehow."

Arthur closes his eyes and leans his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have jumped to the worst conclusion. And I love you so much, I never should have said those things."

"But you still love me?" she asks. Her mouth is so near his that the only way he can answer is with a kiss. 

He's not sure if there's a busker starting to play or if he's just so happy that the music is in his head, but Arthur's pretty sure that either way, this is the most perfect moment of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to @nessismore for her [inspiring art](http://quasicons.livejournal.com/7807.html), thoughtful discussions, and tireless enthusiasm. A million more to @alierakieron for beta services and helping me figure out how to write this and assuring me that Arthur as romcom heroine was totally feasible, and to @littledust for shepherding this along, listening to me moan over tropes and cheerleading in the eleventh hour and forty-fifth minute.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [like a movie loves a screen (The Noir Medley)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4234803) by [littledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/pseuds/littledust)




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